Later
by troubledsoul29
Summary: The little things we miss are the ones that matter the most. House/Wilson


**A/N I do not own House MD and it's characters. I am an amateur writer borrowing these characters and adapting it based on the story Later written by Michael Foster**.

_Later: inspired by a short story written by Michael Foster_

It 's strange, the things you remember. When life as you know it has crashed in front of you and suddenly, you are the only one left behind. It's not the big important things that you remember when you come to that: not the success, not the hopes and dreams, not the future plans, not the grand memories. It's the little things that you missed that comes back and haunts you. The little tell tale signs. The way he talked to you, the urgency of his voice that you did not bother to listen to.

James Wilson found that out while he was sitting inside his office, staring at the connecting balconies between him and House. It was a rainy Friday afternoon. He kept trying to think about the fond memories of the past, the pranks they pulled on each other, the feeling every time he is around him, and the feeling of being together at last. But he couldn't quite remember the feeling at the moment. Not this afternoon. All he could feel was sadness and despair.

Those memories were like a huge gray area at the back of his mind. All he could remember now was that strange little thing: nothing, really, but if you stopped and thought about it, it is what everything is about. It was something his lover had said to him. One morning, two days ago, Nothing if you looked closer to it. It's the usual concern coming from him.

But it was what he was remembering, now. That particular morning, he was busy finishing all the paperworks that accumulated from the previous days. It is very important for he has to finish it for the meeting of all oncologists that afternoon. It is a great deal, in order to retain his position as head of oncology. He was in the middle of his work, House, his lover and best friend barged in his office complaining about 'feeling funny on the inside'. Wilson dismissed it as House trying to seduce him to have office sex and told him, "I'm busy House, go away". He had to finish his report: it meant so much.

The next time House barged in his office, he was busy talking to a patient. "Not now House" he said. He looked pale, and a bit shaky. He dismissed the observation because it is lunch time and House has probably not eaten something in a while, it could just be hypoglycemia. "Later House, after I finish Mr. Carson's check-up. I'll come by your office after I'm done. It'll be only for a couple of minutes."

House opened his mouth to try and say something but nodded instead and went back to his office. Wilson noticed that House was limping heavily. Probably because of he can't solve his case, he thought.

And that was what James Wilson was recalling. Now. Not the long plans of love and care for the years ahead. He was remembering the way his lover conveyed his vulnerability through his meaningful stare and deflections. "I'm feeling a bit funny on the inside".

From the corner of his shelf, he saw a photo album of him and House. It was quite old and thick. He picked it up leafed through the pages. A picture fell; he had never seen this picture before. It was a picture of them in one of the hospital party, one taken when they are officially a couple. They're both smiling and House was leaning towards Wilson. He flipped the picture and there was a dedication addressed to him: "I will always love you through thick and thin. I'm sorry for all the things I've done. I will cherish forever the memories of us. I love you. Fr: Greg"

His lips were moving stiffly with anguish to form the words, he didn't try to think any more, as he should be thinking, about the important things: about his careful and shrewd and loving plans for the years to come; and for a little while he forgot, even, the horror and bitterness of his ignorance of House's complaints. After 30 minutes with Mr. Carson, he went to House's office only to find him asleep on his ottoman. He shook him awake. "House, get up. I'm hungry."

But House did not awake, instead, his head lolled to the side. He was stunned. He knelt beside him and felt for a pulse. Nothing. He moved his face to his mouth to feel for breath. Nothing. He panicked and called the nurses' station for an emergency cart. He laid House down on the floor and started to do CPR. Still unresponsive. He was crying now. "C'mon House, don't do this to me." The nurses arrived with the crash cart but it was too late. His best friend and lover is dead. In the afternoon, he found out that House died from a myocardial infarction from the autopsy performed by his team. It was massive and he was dead within a few minutes. If only he did not ignore him. If only he had taken his concern seriously.

He did not even notice Cuddy, dressed in a black trench coat and dress, standing outside his office, pale and silent, dressed for House's funeral, trying to make her voice calm as possible "The funeral is in two hours. We must go."

Because James Wilson was thinking: He could have saved him, but he told him _**later.**_


End file.
